


Coping Mechanisms

by lunacatd



Series: 100 word Stories [2]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Horror
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-25
Updated: 2016-02-25
Packaged: 2018-05-23 03:46:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 450
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6103792
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lunacatd/pseuds/lunacatd
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock copes, or does he</p>
            </blockquote>





	Coping Mechanisms

**Author's Note:**

> Finding my way back to writing with a challenge to myself. A daily goal of writing a 100 word story. This was my first and it is a little longer.

“Sherlock!”

He sat up. Eyes wide, hairs at the back of his neck bristled, while a trickle of cold sweat slid down his bare back. His eardrums strained to catch whether the call would repeat, but all he heard was a buzzing silence and the thud, thud, thud of his own heart. And that is when he realized he had yet to draw a breath. Willing his pulse to slow, he exhaled, and noted the mist that formed. So the room was also cold, not just him. He focused on the periphery of the room to scan for any anomalies.

“Sherlock!”

There! At the foot of his bed, how had he missed the figure earlier? Standing in his usual arrogant manner, as if he belonged there. No, as if he owned the place, the world even. The tall slim figure, the understated, yet outrageously expensive suit, the thin wire rimmed glasses, the smug expression. Except this time, when the smile widened, the smooth skin cracked and peeled, a dirty, yellow rictus of a grin was revealed full of decaying teeth. The posh suit mouldered and deteriorated as the body beneath putrefied and fetid fluids soaked through its fabric. And the stench... the stench made Sherlock gag. It was the worst he had ever encountered. Yet it all was nothing compared to the voice, the soft, sibilant tones that addressed him anew. 

“You are mine now, Sherlock, all mine and no one can save you...” the apparition whispered seductively as it crawled atop the bed towards him. 

To the consulting detective’s utmost horror he found himself immobile. He was utterly helpless, his cries for aid amounted to no more than gasps, his limbs were useless. Sherlock could not even close his eyes to avoid the terrifying sight of the vile visage, glasses now crooked as the nose liquefied, the rancid breath, the ghastly cold cerulean eyes that would not let go of his soul. 

*SLAP* 

He felt the sudden heat of flesh on flesh, once.

*SLAP*

Twice.

*SLAP*

A third time, recognizing the small yet strong hand. A deceivably delicate hand, a hand that in addition to holding a wallop was also dexterous and cut a mean “Y” incision. 

Sherlock opened his eyes and once again he found himself in his room, in his bed. This time though, all was as it should be. With a small groan he flipped onto his back then rubbed his jaw remembering – remembering the exchange with Molly at the lab. What would the pathologist think, he wondered, if she knew she was his go-to memory to wake up from the... from unpleasant dreams. Maybe one day he’ll tell her. 

 

Coping Mechanisms  
by Lunacatd aka CumberCougars


End file.
